Enthusiasm in Liberty
by Nonyme Swan
Summary: Tony Stark thought he'd make a better president than that spray-tanned muppet. He should really learn to keep his mouth shut around tricksters, however, because sometimes you get what you wish for.
1. Chapter 1

_Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing._

 _\- Benjamin Franklin_

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***In order to avoid violating the Pit's rules against Real People fiction you will note I am not referring to any real people by name. I'm sure you can figure out who I'm referring to, but this maintains a degree of plausible deniability that I hope will keep TPTB happy. This story will go up on A03 also as soon as AO3 gets around to letting me sign up.***

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Author's notes:

So I was talking about about the election with a friend on Facebook, and I observed that it felt like I was living in a dystopic alternate universe.

My friend said, "If I'm going to live in an alternate universe story where a crazy megalomaniacal billionaire is president, I wish it was Tony Stark." (And that was the third time somebody had expressed that sentiment to me in 24 hours!)

This is that story. Thanks, friend. I'll probably get hauled off in the middle of the night by the president-elect's goons for inappropriate use of the First Amendment, so thanks a lot.

I'm a political and history nerd. Therefore, the facts should be reasonably well researched, but feel free to correct my assumptions in the comments or message me if I make any errors.

This story falls into the same category of satire as Saturday Night Live, i.e., It's satire and fully protected by the First Amendment. However, behind the sarcasm is real political commentary and that, my friends, is also fully legally protected. Political commentary is something that the founding fathers had in mind when they added the First Amendment.

Because this is a story intended to be readable by a broad audience, there will be no explicit porn and no slash. There will be ample innuendo, lots of profanity, and discussion of real world scandals, and Tony Stark being Tony Stark. If you're looking for Rule 34 involving certain politicians, it's not this story (and also, ewwwwwww!).

I will also note that this is an "all heroes" universe. Specifically, there will be characters from Marvel, DC and DIsney in it, and possibly others. It's one giant crossover. (As a side note, good grief, Elisa Maza would be fifty this year. Where's the time gone?)

****I could use a beta reader or two who's familiar with Marvel and/or DC superheroes. I have a working knowledge of both, but neither is a primary fandom for me.****

* * *

It should have been a victory celebration.

Tony Stark sipped at a glass of expensive champagne, and wished it were whiskey. The large room had once been a medieval dining hall in a castle. That castle was now relocated to the top of a skyscraper and it was filled with an eclectic mix of modern heroes, powerful industry leaders, influential tech designers, the occasional politician, and an assortment of wealthy patrons.

The room was shockingly quiet.

The other guests stood around in small knots, venting and worrying and already discussing conspiracies. Though the words were hushed, he occasionally heard phrases like _Diebold_ and _No, they're Dominion, now_ , and _impeach the bastard_ and _maybe they're wrong - she could still win_ , and _Nazi party in America_ and _civil war in the streets._

Louder than the rest, and sounding more than a bit drunk, someone snarled, _Goddamn orange baboon. Owen, can't we do something about this? You know he shouldn't have won, he didn't reall win, it's a plot! And I know plots better than anyone! We've known this might happen for years!_

That was Xanatos, their host, and he was venting loudly at a forty-something grey-haired black woman and a blond man. The woman had a can of Coke in one hand; the blond man was holding an iPad and adjusting his glasses. At a glance, both looked familiar to Tony, but he couldn't bring names to mind.

Xanatos, who was _other_ billionaire engineer with an epic power suit, met Tony's gaze, then abruptly turned on one heel and stalked off. He only wobbled a little and this surprised Tony. He'd been drinking harder than anyone else ever since the first polls had started to come in.

Tony went the other way, out a door and upstairs to a walk with a spectacular view of New York. He sipped his champagne, and looked at the bright lights of the city, and tried not to feel sick inside. He wasn't a liberal, exactly, but the orange baboon - as Xanatos had described him - was a frightening man.

It was tempting to conclude _not my circus, not my monkeys_ , but that, too, wasn't right. Real people were going to suffer and probably die because of this election.

Stark had known the president-elect for a long time. He'd found him to be a slimy, weaselly, egotistical loud mouth in person, and a crooked businessman in general.

"Tony! Tony Stark! Iron Man!"

He turned, and found a microphone shoved in his face. The reporter continued, "Tony, tell me what you think about our new president!"

"I think _I'd_ make a better president than that spray-tanned muppet," he snapped. He'd had a lot of champagne. "Wish I'd run. If he could win, so could I and at least I won't start world war three because somebody said something mean to me on twitter. Hell, I'll throw myself in front of the missiles first. Like I've done before!"

"Excuse me," a deep voice rumbled behind the reporter. "I believe you were not invited to this party. My apologies, Mr. Stark."

Tony looked up - way up - a good seven feet up - and then said with real drunken delight, "Goliath! I've always wanted to meet you. Call me Tony!"

Yeah, he'd had way too many drinks. He belatedly realized he sounded like an excited fanboy.

The reporter, meanwhile, squeaked in startled fear. The gargoyles had not been a secret for many years, but they tended to keep to themselves. Few people actually met them. Notoriously wary and cautious, they had avoided all attempts by the rest of the world's superheroes to contact them. Tony hadn't even been sure they would be at this party (though he'd been hopeful), and Xanatos's headquarters was also their home.

The gargoyle frowned down at Tony briefly, then turned towards the reporter. She was already being hustled away, however, by a pair of tuxedo clad security officers. One officer looked up as he passed Goliath and said, "Sorry, man, she slipped by us."

"Hnnh." Goliath said, "Reporters are always persistent. Be sure that she is remanded to the proper authorities for trespassing."

"Of course, sir."

After the reporter was gone, Goliath's attention focused on Tony. Tony stood his ground, and was proud that he didn't even feel particularly intimidated. By reputation, the gargoyles were forces of good. Plus, he regularly fought small wars against beings who were tougher than the bat-winged and clawed creature who was regarding him with such wary suspicion.

Boldly, he stuck a hand out. "Tony Stark."

"I know who you are." Despite his apparent caution, Goliath did shake his hand. The creature had a powerful grip, unsurprisingly, and his hand was several sizes bigger than Tony's. It was not quite like shaking hands with the Hulk, but only because there was a keenly intelligent and calmly sane light in the gargoyle's brown eyes. Goliath added, "Xanatos speaks highly of you."

"We've collaborated on a few things." Stark shrugged, trying for the appearance of humility even if he didn't really feel it. Of course Xanatos liked him, he was Tony Stark! He added, because he liked Xanatos right back, "I'm fascinated by some of his David's work in biomechanical implants. I expect he follows my work for the same reasons. Same industry. Same hobbies. Friendly competition. That sort of thing."

"Mmm." Goliath folded his arms across his chest and fell silent.

"So ..." Tony struggled to think of something to say. "... you weren't at the party?"

"I am not an American citizen."

"Neither's Thor, and he's around here somewhere. It's a party. With booze, and good company." Or it had been, until things had gone all pear shaped at the polls. What had started out as a celebration now felt like a funeral.

"I find little enjoyment in political games." The gargoyle's frown was sharper. "Nor do I wish to spend time with strangers."

"Goliath, there you are! I heard about the reporter." A woman hurried up before Stark could think of anything to say to that. It was the athletic black woman he'd seen talking to Xanatos earlier.

Xanatos sized her up with mild interest, noting that she appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties, and was well preserved and fit, with smooth skin and high cheekbones that hinted at some interesting ancestry. Native American too, maybe? She was attractive, in any event.

Then the gargoyle smiled warmly at her, and Xanatos recognized belatedly recognized the woman from a random Avengers briefing several months before.

Elisa Maza. Not available.

She spared Tony a glance, then a sharp second look of recognition. "Iron Man. Excuse us, I need to talk to my husband."

They hurried off; she took two quick strides for every one of the gargoyle's. Apparently, she wasn't any more interested in socializing with superheroes than her partner. Tony, somehow, found that refreshing. A bit insulting, but also refreshing. The hero worship got old sometimes.

Stark was still watching them go because the structure of the gargoyle's wings was fascinating when somebody cleared his throat loudly. He turned to find that Xanatos' aide was approaching. That had been the blond man he'd seen with Xanatos earlier.

Armani suit. Perfectly polished Italian leather dress shoes. Glasses. All business, no sense of humor. The guy was stereotypical: a classic assistant in the world of the rich and powerful. Stark had only briefly spoken to him in the past and always over professional matters. He only recognized him because the man was always there, somewhere in the background, when Xanatos was around. It took a minute to remember the man's name.

"Mr. Stark," Blond Guy said.

"Uh ... Burnett, right? Alan?"

"Owen." Burnett stopped, and did not offer his hand. He adjusted his glasses, peered through them, then said, "Did you mean what you said regarding being president?"

"Of course I did," he snapped, "I'd do a better job than the clown with the dead cat on his head. If any narcissistic billionaire should be president, it should be me."

"You truly believe you could do a better job," Owen said, head tilting to one side slightly. There was an odd light in Owen's eyes, and Tony found he couldn't quite figure out what the man was thinking.

Stark was too drunk to really care, however, that Owen was pinging a few of his warning bells. Instead of caution, he rolled his eyes with irritation. "Yeah, if for no other reasons than that I'm not a narcissistic asshole and I do actually play well with others. I've got morals and integrity. I learn from my mistakes. I want what's best for other people, not just what's best for me. And ..."

Burnett held a hand up, stopping Stark in what was shaping up to be a world class rant. "If you were offered the position, would you take it?"

"Fuck yeah," he said, with real feeling. He was talking out of his ass now, but he was mad about the whole election and truly furious about the thought of that man in the White House. "Fuck, yeah, I'd take it. Better me than him."

"Hmm. Perhaps we shall talk again. Good day, Mr. Stark. I believe I have some work to do."

Burnett turned and walked away.

Tony wondered if he'd missed something, then finished his champagne in one long swallow and went in search of more. The only way to deal with this night was to get black out drunk, and if the only way to do it was with David Xanatos's $500 a bottle champagne, so be it. Xanatos could afford it.


	2. Chapter 2

When Tony woke, it was to the expected pounding headache and vile taste in his mouth.

He rolled over in bed, and promptly bumped into a warm body. "Pepper?" He said, muzzily, before he remembered he and Pepper were no longer a thing. He lifted his head, and realized that the warm body in his bed was a random chick with lots of dark hair and dark skin.

She blinked at him, likely battling a hangover to match his own.

"Err, hi," he said. Mornings after were always awkward, particularly when he had no memory of the events leading up to them. "Breakfast?" he suggested.

"Nah. I've got to go," she said, with a light accent that he couldn't place. He was lousy with accents.

"Err, uh, I didn't do anything rude, did I?" He said, a bit worried. He normally didn't get that drunk in public, but the last thing he remembered was going for more champagne after venting angrily at Xanatos's blond aide.

"Huh? No." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "It was good."

She rose, revealing a body with a few sags and wrinkles, and a pound or two extra. He guessed her age to be late thirties. She was a real woman, in other words. At least he hadn't taken the first available supermodel home (though Xanatos's parties tended to be light on the arm candy).

Whoever she was, she had probably been at the party because she was in Xanatos' circle of peers, rather than being a decoration. He'd certainly been to enough parties where the after-dinner entertainment included barely legal-age escorts hired for the enjoyment of the rich guests, and he was embarrassed to recall the number of times he'd taken advantage of what was being offered.

He'd outgrown that. Mostly.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember her name, how they'd met, or anything about the last night. "Uh," he said, "well, umm."

She grabbed a short black dress of the floor and yanked it over her head, found her underwear on a bedside chair and pulled them on, then shoved her feet into a pair of designer pumps. He could tell she felt a little uncomfortable, but he didn't think she was upset. Maybe she couldn't remember last night either. He really hoped he hadn't done anything wrong. The entire time she was dressing he couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Maybe we'll see each other around," she said, "You're funny."

"I was?" That sounded promisingly like he hadn't done anything egregious.

"Yeah." She ran her fingers through her hair, working out the worst of the tangles. "Hope you're not thinking this might lead to anything, though. I'm not in the market."

Whew. That had been his second major concern. He, very definitely, was not looking for a girlfriend.

"See you, Tony," she headed for the door.

After she was gone, Tony slumped back and rubbed his forehead. His hangover wasn't any better, and the light was making him nauseous. However, after a moment, he grabbed his earpiece off the bedside table and, with eyes firmly closed, clipped it in place. "Jarvis, what was that woman's name?"

"Amanda Patel. She's a Vice President with Wayne Industries."

"Ah." Definitely not just invited to the party for her looks, then. Likely, knowing Bruce's hiring habits, she was a sharp cookie and Xanatos had invited her on her own merits. "Did I do anything ... offensive?"

"As far as I observed, everything was fully consensual," Jarvis said, promptly. "I would have intervened had there been any question."

"Right." He pinched the bridge of his nose. He would never deliberately assault anyone, but when he got to drinking it was possible that he could misinterpret social cues. He'd been slapped or shoved away more than once in his life, though he was proud to say that he always stopped as soon as he realized he'd erred. "Thanks, Jarvis."

"You may wish to watch the news, however."

"No, I don't wish."

His hotel room TV turned on by itself, and then changed channels to CNN. The reporters were covering the election, and Stark angrily reached for the remote only to pause.

The clip was of Stark standing on an Aerie building parapet, and declaring angrily,

 _"I think I'd make a better president than that spray-tanned muppet. Wish I'd run. If he could win, so could I and at least I won't start WW3. Hell, I'll throw myself in front of the missiles first. Like I've done before!"_

Well, he'd been quoted saying worse.

Tony shut the TV off, and when Jarvis protested, he yanked the ear piece back out and slapped it down on the end table. He had a hangover to sleep off.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days - and several obnoxious tweets by the President-elect later - Stark found himself in DC. Specifically, he (and the rest of the Avengers) had gone to DC for a meeting with Fury and the outgoing Homeland Security officials, but had promptly found themselves saving the city from random bad guys.

These random bad guys were either mutants or aliens. Tony wasn't sure. It didn't really matter, however. They had superhuman strength, were vaguely humanoid, had big guns, and they had a fifty-five gallon drum on a hand truck. Nobody knew exactly what was in that drum, but Tony assumed it was bad. Random good guys didn't show up toting AK-47s and a a great big metal drum if they were there as ambassadors of peace and goodwill.

Tony, therefore, was entirely unsurprised when the bad guys shot at him and the meet-and-greet between the Avengers and the scaly strangers had promptly turned into a fight in the middle of the National Mall.

"Cap!" Tony shouted as he swooped down and snatched Steve's shield up from the ground and winged it at him. Steve, grappling with a scaly monster in the middle of the reflecting pool, caught the shield without even looking at it, and proceeded to bash the creature in the head until it dropped.

"Tony! Look out!" Natasha shouted, just as a heavy weight crashed into him. One of the mutant-alien-things had latched onto his back and seized his head. His suit alarms screamed about imminent structural failure and he struggled to reach back and grab hold of the creature, even as he also tried not to crash into anything that was historically important or expensive, or possibly being used for cover by civilians

 _Thud_. The impact was transmitted from the creature through his suit to his body. Tony flipped end over end, then righted himself by sheer practiced reflex even as the creature tumbled to the ground two hundred feet below. It hit the reflecting pool with a tremendous splash.

Thor gave him a wave, which he acknowledged with a thumb's up. Mjolnar was already flying back to the god, even as Tony looked about for another target.

Somebody wearing a red cape streaked out of the sky, grabbed one of the bad guys by one arm, spun him about wildly, and launched him hard into the trunk of a tree.

Over the radio, Barton commented, "Who invited Supes?"

"Hey!" Tony shouted aloud, "Dude! This is a private party!"

Superman turned, waved, and gave him a big grin. Then he floated up to Tony's level, which was now fifty feet above the ground. "Just in the area and it looked like you needed some help."

"Isn't this a bit out of your jurisdiction?" Tony complained.

"I was here in town anyway." Superman's tone was friendly.

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say. Hey - you've got that fancy vision trick, what's in the barrel?"

Superman turned in mid-air and looked in the direction that Tony was pointing. Then, with sudden urgency, he said, "That appears to be a bomb."

"Figured." That would have been Tony's first guess but it was nice to have confirmation.

"Judging by the design, it might be nuclear."

" _Fantastic!_ Where's a wormhole when we need one?"

"I'd fly it into space, but I'm afraid that the acceleration and heat from the atmospheric friction might set the conventional explosives off." Superman folded his arms across his chest and stared harder at the barrel. "A nuclear blast at high altitude would do more damage than one at ground level, due to the EMP."

"No duh."

"It also appears to have a motion sensor."

"I've got this," Tony said, though he was absolutely terrified inside. Over the comms he added. "Guys! We got a nuke on the capital lawn. Get everyone out of the area. I'll disarm it."

"... Tony!" That was Captain America. "What if you can't?"

"Don't worry, weapons are kinda my thing."

Was this the day he was going to die? Well, at least he'd go out in a literal blaze of glory ...

"I'll help," Superman offered.

Tony snorted, popped his face mask up, and said, "You just want the story for your paper."

He'd prize the memory of that look of absolute shock for the rest of his life. Superman stared at him with slack-jawed amazement that suddenly morphed into indignation. "I am one of the few people who can actually survive a close range nuclear blast, Tony!"

"Riiight, Clark." Yay for a chance for some snark and banter. It would distract him from his terror.

Somewhat cautiously, he landed next to the nuke. Was it on a time delay? Was it going to go off unexpectedly? If so, he'd literally never know what hit him.

Superman followed with his cape swirling around his ankles and demanded, "How do you even know that?"

Tony shrugged. "I have my sources."

Tony felt a bit naked when he stepped out of his suit, despite the fact that he was wearing an Armani to rival Owen Burnette's underneath. He'd been at a business meeting when the call had come in regarding scaly alien monsters near the Capital Building.

The suit wouldn't make a bit of difference if the bomb went off, however, so he told himself to focus on the job at hand.

"So do you ever use that super sight to spy on girls?" Tony asked, as he examined the barrel.

"What? No!"

"Aw, that's no fun. I'd totally be telling Pepper what color her underwear was ..."

Clark's cheeks turned bright pink. "I'd never do that."

"Liar."

"Focus, Tony. Please."

"I am focusing, Captain Underpants." Tony could banter under any and all circumstances. It was a mad skill that he was proud of.

"Tony!" Superman protested.

"How come you never hang with us, anyway?" Tony asked, as he walked slowly around the 55 gallon drum. "You should totally do lunch with Steve. You two would be cute together."

Superman's eyes narrowed in what looked like a pained expression, then he sighed, and said, "There's a booby trap of some kind on the lid. Looks like you'll trip an explosion if you open it up. There is also a mercury based motion sensor."

"Let's not do that, then." Tony grinned. "Time for Plan B. Can you tell the color of the explosive charge?"

Despite his teasing, he wasn't sure how good Superman's x-ray vision actually was.

"Purple-ish."

Huh. He'd have to find out just how Superman's vision worked someday. He suspected magic. Magic was a fine explanation for anything that science couldn't explain, and he'd stopped discounting it as an answer to impossible physics a long time ago, because Asgard. Sure, at some level, magic and science became indistinguishable, but for practical purposes ... magic. Magic was a great explanation.

"That's probably N5-G, then. Military grade explosive. It's temperature sensitive. Be nice if we could get Loki-the-ice-boy for this, but I suppose you'll do, and without all the drama that would follow when we had to recapture Reindeer Games ..."

"Freeze it?"

"Freeze it solid, baby." That would disable not just the explosives, but the motion sensor too.

Superman pursed his lips and complied, and Tony took a startled step back at the gust of searingly cold wind. DC was perpetually humid, so atmospheric moisture immediately condensed on the barrel in the form of a thick layer of ice. It steamed faintly in the bright fall sunshine.

"How cold did you get it?"

Superman shrugged.

"I'm going to have to get you into the lab for more testing."

Superman gave him an alarmed look.

"Non-invasive, I promise." Tony grinned at him. "Mostly. Though I have these probes and I'd be fascinated to learn your core temperature ... maybe we could get Banner involved ..."

"Banner's a doctor?" Superman seemed like he was actually taking Tony seriously. Well, Tony _was_ serious, though he'd never actually get Superman involved in anything in a lab without his willing consent. Tony was curious, but he had ethics.

Still, just for giggles, he offered, "Nah, I was thinking the Hulk could hold you down."

Superman shook his head in disbelief, as he realized he was being teased. "I can get the bomb colder if you need it."

"I need. I want that puppy as cold as possible."

A few moments later, the barrel was surrounded by a pool of fog and covered in a thick layer of hoarfrost.

Tony, meanwhile, summoned his suit back. Despite knowing it would make absolutely no difference if he was wrong about the physics involved and the bomb went off, he lowered the mask to protect his face - and then he hauled off and whacked a gauntlet-ed hand down on the top of the barrel. The metal, which was frozen to a point far below zero, shattered on impact and the guts of the bomb spilled out in several clumps of electronics, metal, and frozen shaped charges.

Nope, no explosion, though Superman had reflexively flinched and thrown up a hand in alarm. He might be able to survive a nuclear blast, but Tony was willing to bet that it wouldn't be a pleasant experience for the man.

"You're insane." Superman, very slowly, lowered his hand.

"You're just now figuring this out?"

"I could have flown it into space after freezing it!"

"And no. If that thing blew in orbit the damage would be a lot worse than it would if it went off on the ground. Besides, I knew this would work."

Superman made a strangled noise.

Tony dismissed the suit except for one gauntlet, then bent down with a pocket knife and cut through the wires connecting the N5-G explosive packs to the electronic guts of the device. He then kicked the explosive charges well clear - Superman jumped again - and used the screwdiver on his knife to detach a couple mounting brackets. It was surprisingly easy to get the pit out of the works, and he calmly picked it up with his gloved hand. It was too cold from Superman's breath to touch with a bare hand, though he expected that it would normally be warm from its own internal heat.

He wanted to take a look at the electronic guts before the authorities got hold of it, because he wanted to know if the design was terrestrial or alien. The pit was just in the way of some of the bits he wanted to see.

Superman, to his credit, seemed to know enough about physics that he didn't react in alarm to Tony's actions when he handled the pit. While Tony wouldn't want to sleep with the thing - or eat it - Uranium wasn't actually that radioactive until you hit it with enough compressive force to make it go critical. Tony had read enough of Clark Kent's articles to recognize his very real intelligence and level of education, so he wasn't surprised that Clark knew this.

"Here, hold onto this until we figure out where the authorities want us to take it." Tony handed the pit to Superman. It was probably unnecessary to say so, but he added, "And don't drop it off a tall building or anything. That would be bad."

"I'm going to go throw it into the sun," Superman said, and launched airborne in a blur of color and a gust of wind.

"Well," Tony said to nobody in particular. He started to scratch his jaw and then decided he wanted to wash his hands of any potential uranium dust before touching his face. "We could do that, too, but it seems an awful waste of a nice chunk of uranium."

He crouched down to look the inner workings of the bomb over. Terrestrial, he decided, after a few minutes of investigation. Some of the electronic parts were marked "Made in China" - which meant exactly nothing except that the bomb designer might have gotten the electronic bits and pieces from eBay. It appeared they'd also cannibalized an old Nokia cell phone and a toaster.

He surveyed the mostly dead and scaley reptilian looking bad guys who were scattered across the mall. Mutant or alien? He didn't know yet. He'd let Banner and the lab geeks figure that one out.

* * *

Tony spent the next twelve hours in a decontamination tent beside a hospital, being scrubbed from head to toe by a paranoid crew of first responders. His clothes - Armani! - had been impounded over fears of possible contamination, and his lawyers were currently arguing with Homeland Security about the fate of the Iron Man suit he'd been wearing. His pocket knife was a lost cause. (Like many engineers, he was attached to his favorite pocket knife. He could build another suit, but he wasn't at all happy about the pocket knife.)

He was wearing a set of scrubs that one of the paramedics had loaned him when he'd fussed about being released in a hospital gown, and he smelled like industrial detergent. He was barefoot, since they'd impounded his shoes. He also badly wanted a drink more potent than the Starbucks latte that Rogers had thoughtfully brought him.

Stark, therefore, was in a particularly foul mood when they finally let him go.

"Here," Rogers said, offering Stark his leather bomber jacket. Stark was only wearing the thin borrowed scrubs. The other Avengers had gone home but Steve had hung around. Tony wasn't about to admit he'd welcomed the Steve's company and moral support while he got probed, scanned, and scrubbed.

"No." Tony snapped, brushing the jacket aside. "I'm not wearing your jacket. That's weird."

"You're going to be cold." Steve continued to hold it out.

"And you're not? I know for a fact that you're not immune to freezing solid, Cap."

"But I can't catch cold!"

They were still bickering when they reached the parking lot, where they headed for a rental car that Steve had picked up somewhere. Jarvis had another suit inbound, but it would take a few hours to get from the West coast to DC. In the meantime, he was grounded.

Tony was in a genuinely cranky mood and therefore was not just needling Steve for a reaction. Steve, for his part, was worried enough about Tony to be angry that Tony was brushing off his attempts to mother hen him. It just wasn't a good combination.

They were verging on a real argument (and Rogers was still trying to get Tony to put bomber jacket on over his thin borrowed scrubs) when they ran right smack into a pack of reporters.

"Tony! Steve! Tell us about the bomb today!"

"Big bomb. We stopped it from going blooey." Tony couldn't keep the sarcasm from his answer, and didn't even try. He had a new target for his bad mood.

"What about the terrorists? Were they alien or mutants?"

"Not even a fucking clue yet." Tony ignored Steve's in-drawn breath at the profanity. He'd hear about it later, but he really just didn't care.

"Are you really on the list to be Secretary of Defense?"

"Huh ... what?" What? Had he heard that right?

"The president announced you were being considered for Secretary of Defense!" The reporter said, excitedly.

"He's not the president yet!" Rogers said, a bit too hastily. Steve liked the president-elect even less than Tony did, which was saying a lot.

"When did he announce this?" Tony demanded, startled.

It wasn't just that he was surprised by the idea, it was the sheer breach of protocol involved. (A) You didn't announce someone was a candidate for a major position without talking them first and (B) you didn't announce multiple "candidates" - as far as Tony was concerned, the proper way to handle hiring decisions of that magnitude was to select the best candidate after interviews and vetting, make sure the candidate accepted the position, and _then_ hold a presser to make the announcement. Had he been running for president he would have had a cabinet and high level appointments all lined up long before he won, too, rather than trying to scramble at the last minute.

Shit, he wouldn't even announce a new Stark Industries executive without making sure his "I's" were dotted and his "T's" crossed and the candidate had been vetted by HR and had signed all the appropriate paperwork.

"He said so an hour ago, in a tweet." The reporter actually took a step back, in response to Tony's immediate explosion of swear words.

"... and he's a moron to announce that without talking to me first! I'd rather be president," Tony concluded. "What the fuck makes him think I'd want to be Secretary of Defense? He's a lying, cheating, egotistical old man with fiucking delusions of grandeur ..."

"Tony, language!" Rogers hissed for about the third time, and Tony ignored that (though the reporters tittered.)

"... and he makes Loki look sane!" Tony threw his hands up in the air. "He's the kind of man I fight against, and fuckitall ..."

"TONY!" Rogers raised his voice.

"... he's a goddamn dickhead with a bad toupee ..."

"TONY!"

He turned to Steve Rogers, who was now turning an interesting shade of magenta. "Steve, I just spent all morning frying my gonads while taking a nuke apart while Captain Underpants looked over my shoulder, and I've got an Avengers meeting to go to yet tonight, and you know what, Steve? I'm all out of fucks. And you," he turned back to the reporters, "can quote me on that. I have no goddamn fucking interest in being the fucking Secretary of State. At all. Period."

Tony shoved his way through the car.

Steve said to the reporters, as he followed Tony, "Uh, sorry about that. He's had a bad day."

Clark Kent, at the back of the pack of reporters, smirked and caught Steve by the arm. In a voice too low for the others to hear, he told Steve, "Don't worry about it. That was pure gold from a ratings standpoint."

Steve eyed him. "I'm not worried about the ratings, I'm worried about his reputation as one of the Avengers. Also, you should attend the Avengers meeting. We'd welcome you."

"You know too?" Clark meant that Steve knew his secret identity, since Steve obviously wasn't inviting a reporter to the meeting.

Rogers sighed and said in an almost inaudible voice (to human ears) as the other reporters ran after the still-swearing Tony, "People see what they want to see, Clark. Apparently, image recognition software just sees the truth. You remember that charity function you attended a few months back with a whole bunch of other heroes?"

Superman nodded.

Rogers shrugged. "Tony posted a group photo of everybody to his Facebook page and Facebook then ID'd your picture as Clark Kent."

Clark made a strangled noise.

Rogers shrugged. "There are worse ways to be outed, I suppose, though we did fix that problem for you. The good news is, Jarvis hacked Facebook and now Facebook knows the difference between your identities and tags them appropriately."

Clark face-palmed. "Seriously? That's what it was?"

"Yeah, that's how we figured it out."

Clark said a bad word. Then he apologized. "Sorry."

Steve laughed. "I'm not the prude Tony thinks I am, Clark."

"I have to pass on the meeting - there's a presser with the president-elect I need to attend and my boss would fire me if I missed it - but I'll keep you in mind." Clark fished in his pocket and found his business card. "Call me if you need me for anything."


	4. Chapter 4

Halfway between the hospital and his hotel room, Tony's cell phone rang.

He looked at the caller ID and then informed Rogers, who was driving, "Voldemort is calling."

"Who?" Rogers said, a bit blankly.

"Remind me to bring you up to speed on JK Rowling ..."

"I've read Harry Potter," Rogers had apparently reached the end of his rope with Tony, because he rolled his eyes. "Who's actually calling?"

"You've read Potter? Wow! You're a regular modern man!"

The phone continued to ring, and Rogers said impatiently, "Are you going to answer it?"

"I was going to let it go to voice mail, actually. He's a slimy little man."

Rogers, who was driving, reached across the seat for the phone. Tony held it out of of reach and then, with a smirk, answered it. In his most sultry possible voice, he cooed, "Heeeeeey baby, are you calling about that hot date you promised?"

The man on the other end, a known homophobe, sputtered. "Tony."

"Who is it?" Rogers mouthed.

Tony clapped a hand over his phone in a way that absolutely positively wasn't guaranteed to block all sound, and said in a loud voice, "It's the President-elect's Vice Goon. Told you. Voldemort."

"Tony!" Rogers said, a bit sharply, and sounding scandalized. "Be nice."

"Why would I be nice? Would you be nice? He's kinda like Hitler's second in command, if Hitler's second in command was really a robot with better hair than the Toupee-in-chief."

Rogers clearly didn't have a good answer to that, because he opened his mouth, then shut it without another word.

Tony returned to the call, and hit the speakerphone button so Steve could hear. In a falsely cheery voice he asked, "You rang?"

The man on the phone cleared his throat, and with the practiced professionalism of a career politician, smoothly asked Tony to attend a meeting with the president-elect at his tower in New York.

Tony considered several possible responses, including profanity, hanging up, or both profanity and then hanging up, but finally settled on a relatively polite, "Nope."

Rogers' eyebrows went up, possibly because he'd been expecting an explosion from Tony.

According to Voldemort, the Buffoon in Chief wanted to interview Tony for the job of Secretary of Defense.

Tony repeated, "Nope. Nopity nope nope." And then he ended the call.

* * *

An hour later, while the Avengers assembled around a conference table in a Pentagon briefing room, the president elect tweet-stormed:

 _"Rude and Stupid Tony Stark owes apology to the nation! Poor engineer, failing company, nasty, nasty! He only ..."_

 _"... got bomb because Superman helped! Couldn't do it by himself! Bad manners, bad man! ..."_

 _"... failing bad businessman, too! Liar! Jealous, wants to be Prez but I'm Prez, I won! ..."_

 _"... bad, bad, bad. Bad businessman, bad man! And rude!"_

Tony read the tweets on his phone, then turned the phone around to show the others. "I don't think he likes me."

Natasha snickered. Barton looked worried. Steve rolled his eyes. Banner sighed. Thor grinned. Fury, walking in with an arm full of three ring binders, barked, "Tony! Have you no decency?"

"... no?" Tony replied, in a questioning voice.

"Or common sense?" Fury added. "In just a few weeks, that idiot will be our idiot in chief!"

"... I quit," somebody said, and surprisingly, it wasn't Stark.

Steve Rogers tossed a pencil down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and said in a very serious tone, "I spent all my adult life fighting Nazis for America. Now we have a man in charge who bears a frightening resemblance to Hitler in the 1930s - and I should know, I was there. What am I supposed to do? I'm an American. I'm loyal to my country and my government. I believe in our values, and our freedoms, and our way of life, yet now we have a President who doesn't believe in any of those things and makes no secret of this, and yet he was voted into office by my fellow citizens."

Silence, from all of them, even Stark. Tony couldn't think of a single comforting word to say. Steve's sentiments were precisely why Tony had gotten blindingly drunk two nights before.

Natasha shrugged, finally, and said, "You just go on, and you try to do what's right, and you try to do damage control wherever you can. It's all you really can do."

"I can't believe that." Tony stood up. "We have to do something."

"Do what? He won. Legally." Steve said, and he sounded more depressed than angry now.

"The vote had to be rigged!" Barton snapped.

"We're looking into that," Fury said, "but it'll be hard to prove and if it did happen, there are some very powerful people behind it."

"He didn't even get the majority of the vote, she did!" Barton added, with real anger. "It's not fair!"

Thor, who had been very quiet, asked, "How can he have won, if the other candidate got the majority of the vote? Is not America a Democracy?"

"Electoral College." Steve said, picking the pencil back up and spinning it between his fingers. "Way back when this country was founded, our Founding Fathers didn't trust the common man, so they set up a system where the voters in each state vote not for the president directly, but for a group of electors who represent their interests."

Thor asked, "This helps how?"

"If the electors think that a candidate is unfit, they can chose someone else."

"Oh."

"The issue with this election is that because of population differences and some screwy math and gerrymandering, he got more electors even though she won the popular vote."

"But he's unfit. Why won't the electors just pick somebody else, if that is their role and duty? Particularly since he didn't really win, and he's _not fit_." Thor sounded genuinely indignant. "The system does not sound as if it is working as designed. Maybe it should be changed."

Tony, who knew more about history than he generally let on, figured that 'unfit' mattered more to Thor than 'democratically elected.' The tendency towards socialism in Nordic countries dated all the way back to the days of the Vikings, where a good Viking leader was one who not only succeeded in battle but who also provided for his people. The president-elect, who showed every sign of _not_ being willing or able to take care of his own people, was certainly unfit by Thor's definition.

"Well, they could." Steve shrugged, answering Thor's question. "It's hypothetically possible. Of course, then you potentially run into a whole new mess with the election. A candidate has to get at least fifty percent plus one of the electors to win. That's 270 electors. If the vote is split three ways or more and nobody gets a majority, then the House of Representatives has to chose from the three candidates who got the most electoral votes."

Thor, proving he paid at least some attention to American politics, nodded. "And your Republican party controls the House of Representatives, which means they would chose a Republican candidate."

"Likely." Tony glanced at the Asgardian prince, a bit surprised that he knew even that much, and then recalled the 'prince' part of Thor's life. He was willing to bet that Thor knew more about politics than most people expected, even if Thor's preferred way to deal with a political opponent was to thump them a few times with Mjolnar and then take them out drinking. Or vice versa, as the situation required.

"And the Republicans are all a bunch of degenerate crooks, the whole lot of them," Natasha said, sourly.

"Hey, watch it," Tony objected. "Not all of us."

"You ...?" She looked at him like he'd just grown a second head.

Tony shrugged helplessly. "We're not all morons."

"Figured you'd be Libertarian," Barton said, with real confusion.

"I have my reasons," he said. "And the party's changed over the years. It isn't what it used to be."

* * *

Xanatos leaned against his desk and regarded Owen with a long, level look. "Can you make it work?"

"I believe so." Owen poked at his iPad a couple of times, made a swishing gesture, and then said, "All the pieces are falling into place."

"Excellent work."

"It is a shame that you could not fill the role, sir."

"Too many skeletons in my closet," Xanatos replied, with a firm shake of his head, "and unlike Tony, I don't actually want the job."


End file.
